Mr Darcy's Impossible Bride
by SophiaWoodford
Summary: After Elizabeth is jilted, Mr. Darcy accidentally compromises her at a ball. Can they get over the circumstances of their hasty engagement to see each other for who they really are?
1. Chapter 1

This is a new story I'm writing as I post, based on an idea I had over Christmas. It is a first draft and not published anywhere else – I'm trying to prompt myself to get the writing done (and avoid working on my dissertation, haha)! Please let me know what you think!

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Darcy sat with his feet up on one of the chairs in Bingley's dressing room. The mid-December cold snap had driven them all indoors, and this morning he was occupied with watching Bingley's valet brush his coat, not quite to his friend's satisfaction.

"I really think it would be better to return to London for the rest of the winter," Darcy said mildly. His own black coat sat easily on his shoulders – clean, brushed, respectable, and otherwise out of mind. Darcy rarely had time for the fuss his friend made over clothes and grooming, and certainly not when there was no one to entertain but themselves.

"Absolutely not, and I shall hear no more of it," Bingley said. "I have always wanted – Bother it, James! Can't you – " and he seized the brush himself, made several attempts to attack some lint otherwise invisible to the unaided eye, and handed the brush back to his man, slightly mollified. "Darcy – I shall hear no more of it. I have always wanted to spend Christmas in the country, and Hertfordshire is as charming a place as any."

Mr. Darcy could very well think of what his friend meant by the charms of Hertfordshire. The attentions of Mr. Charles Bingley to Miss Jane Bennet were impossible to ignore. Every morning he prepared his toilet as if to meet the Prince of Wales, on the off chance that Miss Bennet might again come to call. Every dinner he found some way to bring her into the conversation, no matter how far or stretched. Last night Darcy had introduced the subject of horticulture as a private joke, to see how long it would take Bingley to mention Miss Bennet's preferences. Within no more than three minutes, the table was privileged to hear Miss Bennet's opinions on lilies (attractive, but so much trouble to care for properly), roses (most pleasing in pink and yellow; red and white lovely on their own, but together bringing to mind the sad civil war that had marred so many English counties) and even rhododendrons (Miss Bennet did not care for them).

Darcy had smiled across the table at Mrs. Hurst; but in truth he was beginning to fear he was falling suspect to the charms of Hertfordshire himself. Miss Elizabeth Bennet's dancing eyes were before his mind more often than he would like to say. While Bingley was clearly smitten with the elder Miss Bennet, and this was amusing, Darcy would be lying to say he was not aware of the danger to himself of remaining too long in the provinces. In particular as he did not believe his friend's affection to be requited. Bingley being unsuccessful in love in the country would be amusing; two bachelors such as themselves being thrown over by the same inconsequential family did not bear thinking about.

Finally satisfied with his coat and the crinkles in his cravat, Bingley caught Darcy's eye in the mirror. "And," he said, looking smug, "I shall throw a ball. A New Year's ball, before the end of the month. Oh, don't look like that, Darcy, by heaven. You know January is the gloomiest month of all of them."

"It certainly is in the country," Darcy muttered.

"I heard that," Bingley said archly.

"I meant you to," Darcy said. But Bingley carried on as if no words had been spoken.

"And you must help lead the dancing, I will have no more of this standing at the side glowering at everyone. Come! It will be perfectly charming."

"The amount of times today I have heard you say the word charming," Darcy said. "Who are you trying to convince?"

"You will never be convinced by words," Bingley said. "Only deeds for you."

Darcy went to swat him – but Bingley ducked, laughing. "Now – hang it, Darcy, you have knocked my cravat askew!"

The thought of keeping his friend company for another endless round of tweaks and crimps was too much for Darcy to bear, and he took his leave. He retired downstairs to the library, where he summoned a servant for a cup of strong coffee. The Edgeworth he had been reading last night was where he had left it, on the side table, and he returned to it with pleasure; but his mind was otherwise occupied and he could not give the book his full attention.

So Bingley would be staying a while longer, in fact months. Darcy had hoped he could use Christmas to dislodge his friend from his country seat, but there seemed to be no chance of that now.

Darcy would return to Pemberley for Christmas, of course. It was Georgiana's favourite holiday, and Darcy privately enjoyed it too. The halls would be hung with greenery, and the tenants would raise the Christmas tree with singing and wassail.

Perhaps this spell out of Hertfordshire would help him. Even in this cold snap of winter, when there was little likelihood of anyone venturing outside who did not have to, the Miss Bennets were rather too near for Darcy to feel fully secure. He would spend the holiday in Derbyshire and put Hertfordshire behind him. Bingley, he thought darkly, must look after himself.

At the very least, Darcy comforted himself in thinking, and returning to his book, Bingley's sisters might knock some sense into him.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Thank you for reading! I hope to post the next chapter soon. Next we hear from Elizabeth...


	2. Chapter 2

I found another few hours to write this chapter. Something about this story has just caught me! I hope you enjoy – and especially love any and all feedback. It may be a day or two before I'm able to give another update but hopefully soon!

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The Meryton Christmas dance was always well attended, and in particular this year, favoured as it was with the presence of the militia. Many of the young men had volunteered to remain at their stations, hopeful of making their way into the hearts of the girls of Meryton, rather than return home; and so there were partners enough for all the ladies, and then some.

Elizabeth felt a warmth creep inside her as she stepped into the dancing room. The servants had done a creditable job of decking the hall, with holly, pine cones and poinsettias; and candles made the room cheerful, a warm and cosy space against the cold darkness outside. Elizabeth gave a little shiver. It was her favourite time of year.

All the way over in the carriage, Mrs. Bennet was chattering with Lydia and Kitty over the prospects at Netherfield. "And so he will be staying at least another month – and for Christmas too!" Mrs. Bennet said. Jane, embarrassed, said nothing; and when they arrived, Elizabeth took her by the arm and steered her into the dancing room.

"I wish she would not speak so loudly," Jane whispered as they moved to stand beside the large bay window. The wind outside blew against the glass panes, masking the details of their tete-a-tete. "She does not see how much it makes other people look at me. I do not wish to be looked at. I do not even know if he likes me."

"Oh, do not worry. Everyone knows it is not your own gossiping," Elizabeth said reassuringly. "And furthermore, it is no embarrassment to you on either end. If he does not like you, he is a great fool."

"I fear I am one as well," Jane said, smiling shyly; and Elizabeth had to be content with that.

A tall fair-haired figure approached, whom Elizabeth was very pleased to see. "Mr. Wickham!" she said, curtseying.

"Miss Bennet," he said, acknowledging both the girls with a winning smile. "I am not too late to take a place on your dance cards, I hope?"

"Indeed, we have only just arrived," Elizabeth said, smiling. "I must warn you, you must get in early to dance with Jane, or you will be disappointed." The young soldiers were already queueing up to dance with her pretty sister.

"It would be my great pleasure," Mr. Wickham said, looking genuinely honoured at his good fortune. "Miss Bennet – Miss Bennet."

He claimed her for a dance, his hand fluttering and elegant under her gloved fingers. Indeed Elizabeth fancied that the whole room was looking at them. Although she was not usually given to vanity, she did know that the muslin she had chosen that night was particularly becoming; and although always she rolled her eyes when Kitty and Lydia began burbling about the young soldiers in town, Elizabeth was not entirely unsusceptible to the appeal of a red coat when worn by a dashing – and attentive – young man.

For attentive Mr. Wickham certainly was. He danced with her twice in the first set, with enough space between them to avoid comment; but when he arrived at her shoulder after the musicians' break, with a courteously trim bow, Elizabeth blushed and looked around to see if anyone noticed. Kitty and Lydia had their own entertainment with the other militiamen, too many to count; Jane was deep in conversation with Mrs. Phillips; and no one else seemed to notice, not even their mother. Only Mary was watching with a small crease between her eyebrows. Well, it was Mary's own fault if she did not want to partake in dancing. Elizabeth accepted Mr. Wickham's third offer with a warm smile, and the small growing pleasure of knowing herself to be favoured.

Their third dance was slower than the earlier set, and Elizabeth found herself more than halfway to a heartfelt enchantment.

At the conclusion, Mr. Wickham bowed deeply again. "You dance with such grace that I find myself in need of refreshment to steady myself," he said. "May I fetch you a glass of punch?"

"It would be a pleasure," Elizabeth said, and watched him walk away in the direction of the punch bowl. She breathed out a happy sigh; while they were dancing, her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Mr. Wickham seems very taken with you," Mrs. Phillips said approvingly.

"I am sure not," Elizabeth laughed, brushing the attention away. "He is only pleased to have a girl who can match him in dancing, for he has tired out the rest."

In truth, she was flattered by Mr. Wickham's attentions, and pleased that Mrs. Phillips had noticed.

It had been a full six weeks since Charlotte Lucas poached Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth was beginning to appreciate why her friend had done what she did. The long winter was giving her cabin fever, cooped up inside with all her sisters and the servants, and no one new or fresh for company. Her mother paced the dining room, talking of Mr. Bingley at Netherfield; her father made perfunctory attempts to go outside and weed the garden, before retreating indoors with the newspaper and a glass of brandy. With such endless days stretching before her, and not even so much of a change when the seasons turned, Elizabeth could very well see the appeal of being mistress of her own household. And Mr. Wickham was a much finer man than Mr. Collins in every way Elizabeth could imagine. Well, nearly every way – his fortune left something to be desired.

But after all, Elizabeth thought as she accepted a glass of punch with a smile from Mr. Wickham, was it not better to be poor and in true love, than wealthy and trapped in a loveless match?

For some reason, immediately following this thought, Mr. Darcy leaped into her head. This was most unwelcome, as she was otherwise having a delightful time. At this very moment, Mr. Darcy must be at his great gloomy house in Derbyshire – at least Elizabeth assumed it must be great and gloomy, for his dour attitude could not have been cultivated somewhere bright and cheerful. What would he be doing now? Perhaps terrifying his poor sister, or the hapless servants. Perhaps stalking the halls, thinking of other people dancing, and frowning on the very thought. Perhaps –

"What are you thinking, that makes you smile so?" Mr. Wickham's voice broke into her thoughts.

Elizabeth tilted her head to look up at him. He was so handsome in the candlelight, and so very attentive. "I have only been thinking of our very disagreeable mutual acquaintance," she said, and laughed when Mr. Wickham pulled an exaggerated face of distaste.

"Pooh! No more of him," he said. "I cannot have you sitting with me thinking of another man. It does me a great discredit." He was joking, but he looking genuinely annoyed.

Elizabeth laughed again, and promised to turn all her thoughts and attentions to the gentleman before her, and no other.

"You flatter me greatly," Mr. Wickham said. He cleared his throat. "I mean to tell you, that I have just been speaking with my commanding officer. There is a prospect of fortune in one of the regiments." He cleared his throat again. "If such an officer were to take the position, he would be in a much better position to marry."

"To marry!" she said.

Heavens, this was soon. Yet Elizabeth, her heart and mind racing with equal speed, could not come up with a single reason against it, in that moment in the candlelight. Nor, tell the truth, did she want to. Everything was just right, as perfect as she could ever have wanted it - if she had been the kind of girl who thought about such things. The stars were out, bright in the cold clear sky. A thousand flickering tapers gleamed. She knew the green ribbon around her waist set off her complexion very well, and perched in her hair was a twist of silk flowers that Elizabeth desperately hoped was still in place. A picture-book illustrator could not have drafted a more perfect scene for a romantic venture.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Wickham began. "The room is warm and I suddenly find myself in need of a change of air. Would you care to accompany me into the next room?"

"I would be delighted," Elizabeth said, and stood to accompany him out.

Everything about tonight was perfect. Really – it was.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

I love writing parties! After the Christmas dance in Meryton, there will be a New Year's ball at Netherfield… and maybe even an engagement ball. Elizabeth is not quite thinking like herself at the moment, but I've always wondered why she falls for Wickham's story. One explanation is that he's just stupid hot and knows exactly what buttons to push... we've all been there! However it doesn't take long for someone to show their true colours! I'm loving writing this story and hope the next part will be up soon. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reading! The reviews have been so lovely to read, especially this weekend as the weather has turned very cold and I've been huddled up in a giant cardigan at my computer for warmth. It's nice to know there are other people out there doing the same thing! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Engaged!"

As they alighted from the carriage on the way back from the Assembly Rooms, Elizabeth let slip to her mother that her father might reasonably expect a call the next morning. Her conversation with Mr. Wickham had been very pleasing indeed. While Elizabeth was cautious about his fortune, he assured her that he was more than halfway to a good living – a fact reinforced by his commanding officer, who seemed surprised at the question but did not counter Mr. Wickham's assertion.

With the candlelight so low, and the gentleman so charming, Elizabeth did not discourage him when he suggested calling on her family the next morning – and made his intentions in doing so clear indeed. He bowed low over her hand as the Bennets departed, and Mrs. Phillips gave them a knowing look and turned to speak to Lady Lucas.

As Elizabeth had half dreaded, half anticipated, the very suggestion sent her mother into a flurry. She wanted to be half out the door to call on Sir William and Lady Lucas _now_ , to rub their faces in her daughter's success – not only to be married, but to a soldier! And such a fine and handsome soldier at that! A parson was _nothing_ to such a soldier! – but Elizabeth gently pointed out that it was nearly one o'clock, that the gentleman had not yet come to call, and accounting for the time it would take to ready the carriage and water the horses and drive to Lucas Lodge, the family would be no doubt asleep or nearly so.

Mrs. Bennet looked as if she would like to rouse them anyway, but Elizabeth steered her mother toward conversation about the church, the date, and the likelihood of inviting many of Wickham's fellow officers, who would look so well in their red coats, and Mrs. Bennet was soon allayed.

The younger girls were up for an hour, demanding all the details, especially of the third dance, and their low conversation in the card room – and Lizzy finally had to shoo them to bed, and untie her green ribbon, and unpin her silk flowers, and shake out her hair. Yet somehow, as she closed her eyes to sleep, it was not Mr. Wickham's face that kept her company, but Mr. Bingley's sour friend Mr. Darcy. It was the most vexing thing.

Elizabeth woke up the next morning with a drop in the pit of her stomach. This was curious, but it was only to be expected for a nearly-engaged woman.

She brushed Jane's hair, and handed her the brush to return the favour.

"Mr. Wickham is very well mannered," Jane said. She paused; the brush stopped in Elizabeth's hair. "Do you know his family?"

"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth said, teasing. "Not every family can be a fine one from the north of England." Jane's correspondence with Caroline Bingley and by proxy her brother was going well, and Jane had even received a note the previous night apologising for their absence at the Meryton dance; Elizabeth's mark hit home, and Jane flushed and continued to brush her hair, perhaps even a little too vigorously.

Mr. Wickham came to call early, and the happy occasion agreed promptly; he did not stay for breakfast, as he had business in town. He had brought Elizabeth a bouquet of fresh picked flowers, which she took great pleasure in arranging on the table. They were simple buttercups and violets, picked from the fields between Meryton and Longbourn; Elizabeth could not help feeling it might have been nicer to have received a more lavish engagement present, but reminded herself that his new promised position had not yet come through, and there was no shame in being a little spare until that time.

Mr. Bennet was silent all through breakfast, and had to be prompted by Mary to pass the toast.

"I do hope you will not live too far," he said suddenly. "Is he to remain in town? Where do his people live?"

What was this mass obsession with Mr. Wickham's family? "We shall have a good living, he said he has been promised," Elizabeth said, mildly annoyed. "I shall visit often."

"The post, sir," Sarah said, presenting the tray with a curtsey.

"Heavens! A letter from Netherfield!" Mrs. Bennet recognised the crest on the embossed paper immediately. She looked up at Jane with undisguised glee. "Dare I hope – _two_ of my girls in one week – "

"It is only an invitation to a ball," Mr. Bennet said, who had torn it open and read it quickly, then thrown it carelessly onto the table. "I cannot imagine why these young men have nothing more to do, other than give balls. Why, there was one at Netherfield only last month."

"Papa!" Lydia exclaimed. "It was all the way back in _November_."

Mr. Bennet did not see that this was such a great gap that needed remedying; he doubted the substance of such a man, who could afford to spend so much time planning dinner menus and, judging by the frequency of their need, employing musicians on _salary_ rather than _ad hoc_ ; and that he certainly hoped Jane was not taken in by these peacock displays. This last was said with a slanted look towards Elizabeth, but no more.

Elizabeth finished her breakfast hurriedly. When he departed that morning, she and Mr. Wickham made plans to walk in town that day, and she was eager to see him outside the company of her family. She pulled on her walking boots, and half-ran the way to Meryton, where they were to meet at the inn.

Mr. Wickham was already chatting with the bar maid, and pulled back as Elizabeth arrived.

They strolled arm-in-arm down the high street. Elizabeth could not think of much to say, so it was just as well that Mr. Wickham was content to talk. He talked of his prospects in the Army, over and above the new position that he promised her was just around the corner; he talked of his preferences at dinner, and his favourite kind of port; he spoke of what their home might be like, when they were married. He pictured a small house, but cosy. Elizabeth said she pictured just the same.

"And yet with a very large library," she said dreamily. How many books she should have when she was married!

"Y-yes," Mr. Wickham said. They walked in silence for a few moments. "Although, my dear Lizzy – do you think we shall have the space? Books are rather expensive, you know – and they take up so much room…"

Elizabeth demurred on this point. She did not find books took up so much room as all that, in particular compared with the hours of pleasure they gave – but she did not want to argue with her new fiancé, so soon after their engagement.

She felt Mr. Wickham's arm tense under her hand, and looked up to see what had caused it.

"Oh, _bother_ ," she said fervently.

Mr. Darcy's tall dark form was stalking across the street before them. He did not look up, or over – indeed he did not seem to see them. Mr. Wickham made as if to move away, and avoid him; but Elizabeth was determined not to look as if she was running away, and continued walking straight ahead, with her chin lifted high. If anyone was to back down, it would be Mr. Darcy. Ahead of them, Mr. Darcy sensed an obstacle in his path, and looked up. Like Mr. Wickham, he twitched as if to leave; but visibly overcame himself, and bowed to Elizabeth.

"A good day to you," Mr. Darcy said.

"And to you, sir," Mr. Wickham said.

All her bravado melted away and Elizabeth was suddenly anxious to leave. She felt inexplicably agitated in Mr. Darcy's company, a feeling she attributed to worry that he would again say something rude or cutting – and on this, her day of celebration. What right had he to step in her way and trample all over her happiness with his arrogant and aloof ways? Elizabeth lifted her chin.

"You must congratulate Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy," she said casually.

Mr. Darcy looked down his nose at Mr. Wickham. How proud he was! "On what occasion," he said; despite the phrasing, it was hardly a question. "Have you found gainful employment at last?"

"I am to be married," Mr. Wickham said. He placed his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders; she, taken aback at the forthrightness of the gesture in public, stood stock still. "Miss Bennet has agreed to be my wife."

Mr. Darcy coloured, and started back. "You!" he exclaimed.

"Me," Elizabeth said brightly, assuming the word was meant for her. In truth she was even more annoyed at Mr. Wickham's possessive gestures than Mr. Darcy's obvious disdain. "I am not too small a match for an officer, I hope you will agree."

"Indeed, madam, the inadequacy is on one side only," he said coldly. Mr. Wickham's arm tensed around Elizabeth; but she rested a calming palm over his hand on her shoulder, and he relaxed back onto his heels. Mr. Darcy took in the gesture with a look of disgust.

"I take it you will not be dancing at our wedding breakfast?" she said.

"I find I have business elsewhere," he said, and strode off, not even stopping to doff his hat.

"What a disagreeable man," Elizabeth said, and Mr. Wickham fervently agreed.

She was so annoyed that she could not stop thinking about Mr. Darcy all through the rest of their walk, and took her leave of her fiancé early, returning home to Longbourn in a foul mood.

"Did you have a pleasant walk?" Mrs. Bennet said knowingly.

"Impossible man!" Elizabeth said, throwing her bonnet aside and stomping upstairs.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Oh Lizzy, listen to yourself! I realised as I wrote this chapter that I've accidentally based Wickham a little bit on an old boyfriend. Some people (especially some men) really know how to turn on the charm and it takes a little while to see through them… but the time is coming soon! Promises are one thing but actions always speak for themselves…


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Apologies that it's been so long since the last update, I've had a few deadlines (argh) but all on the way. I hope to be more regular this week now that we're over that hurdle. Thank you for sticking with it! The weather's getting nicer now as well – I even saw a crocus poking its head up last week!

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Engaged to be married – to George Wickham! Darcy threw his hat across the room. It hit the arm of the far chair and skittered to the floor. He sprawled back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

Despite his best efforts, he was still plagued by thoughts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. After his holidays at Pemberley, spent with Georgiana in a festival of lights and home comforts, Darcy had returned to Hertfordshire with a fresh spirit. As Bingley was still intent on Miss Bennet's sister, Darcy had even entertained thoughts of - well, of entertaining her. Of inviting her to dinner - a small family meal, nothing too grand, nothing to make him fretful, as he often was in company - and hearing her speak once again. Perhaps, if she was as he remembered her, of gently inquiring if her mind - if her heart could possibly shape itself to -

But this was all moot. George Wickham had slipped in and pipped him to the post. Miss Bennet was glowing on his arm - and the fiery spark in her eyes made it clear, even if her words were sharply cordial, that she disdained Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy more than ever.

Though it was only just gone four o'clock in the afternoon, the January sky was darkening already, and several of the candles were lit against the dimming grey. Darcy crossed the room to Bingley's liquor cabinet and poured himself a large glass of brandy. No need to trouble a servant. He would be keeping his own company today.

As if summoned by his desire to be alone, Bingley appeared. Darcy seated himself wordlessly, bracing himself for his friend's cheery blast of conversation.

"Caroline has had the kindest note from Miss Bennet," Bingley said warmly, never waiting for a nod or a welcome. "She is the loveliest – the most delightful – I find I am quite entranced."

"You have been quite entranced since the day we attended that exceptionally tedious dance," Darcy said. He generally enjoyed his friend's company, but the subject of romance – particularly one that struck so close to his own _coup de coeur_ – was the last thing he wished to dwell on tonight. Yet he could not resist speaking his mind, especially when it touched his friend's happiness. "I have seen no reason that your affection should be so fixed, especially not on the part of the lady."

Bingley looked almost halfway to being affronted. "I am sure you are mistaken," he said. "Anyway, if she does not affect me now, I shall do my best to make sure she does by the end of winter. I shall woo her."

"You," Darcy said dryly. He took a sip of his brandy. It warmed his throat, at least, and that was something.

"At the last ball, her company was most pleasing," Bingley said. "The way forward is clear. I shall ask her to another."

Darcy sat up briskly, uncrossing his legs and throwing his feet to the floor. "You shall ask Miss Bennet to your ball – what, all the Miss Bennets?"

Bingley mistook his meaning entirely. "Oh, I don't mind the younger ones. Of course they are silly – but what consequence is that to me and my happiness?" he cried. "Miss Bennet is the perfectest creature. We shall not have to entertain her sisters when we are married."

" _If_ you are married," Darcy corrected. He was alarmed – his friend's fantasies were too like his own. "What makes you think Miss Bennet is amenable to your suit?"

Bingley looked so surprised and hurt, that Darcy almost regretted asking the question. But it was not the wrong thing, to make sure his friend was making the right decision. Darcy himself had been mistaken - so drastically mistaken - in the character and sentiment of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It was only right that he should help his friend to prevent him from erring.

"She is the loveliest girl," Bingley said plaintively.

"Yes, yes, and you are the loveliest gentleman," Darcy snapped. "It is all very well for those of you who think so. But life is not all buttercups and roses. Perhaps your affections may be misplaced."

Bingley took this on the chin, and lifted the body part in question. "I take your challenge," he said simply, "and I will respond in kind. I will invite Miss Bennet to my New Year's ball - indeed I will invite _all_ the Miss Bennets," he said, confrontationally. "I will press my suit, which I believe to be at least reciprocated. _You_ may do as you like."

"I do not know why we are friends," Darcy said.

"It is because of your winning disposition, and my practical one," Bingley said, beaming, and ducked out of the room before Darcy could throw something at him.

Mr. Hurst was the next to interpose on Darcy's meditations, announcing that Miss Bingley had proposed a game of whist. Did Mr. Darcy care to make a fourth? Darcy did not. Mr. Hurst closed the door with a humph. Darcy sat and sipped his brandy – 'sipped' being the genteel term. The first glass disappeared – then another.

It would not be so bad if it were not Wickham, he reasoned with himself. Indeed, Darcy had not even fully convinced himself that he could reasonably pursue Miss Bennet – that the fruits of such pursuit would be desirable even if they were grasped. She would certainly get along well with Georgiana. She got along well with everyone – except him, of course. Rather too well! Darcy poured a third glass with a too-careful hand. Was not her taste in her engagement a sign of a deeper flaw? Yet even as this reassuring thought crossed his mind, Darcy had to acknowledge that he knew only too well the depth and skill of Wickham's persuasive lies. The fault was rather his, and his alone, for not warning Miss Bennet against him before it was too late.

Yet why should he have known? This course of events was certainly not expected. Miss Bennet had no fortune to speak of, as Darcy knew all too well. So why was Wickham interested?

The unpleasant thought, which Darcy had been trying to push away, came up from the back of his mind. He must consider the possibility that the engagement between Mr. Wickham and Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a love match. The thought was so abhorrent that he flinched on thinking it.

Whatever the reason, Darcy must act. The happiness of not only Miss Elizabeth Bennet was in his hands – if the consequences of whatever Wickham was planning fell on Miss Jane Bennet as well, it could reverberate to Bingley – the effects were neverending.

He rang the bell for a servant, and requested pen and paper. If he was to manage somehow to sever Wickham and Miss Bennet, it must be at this ball Bingley was planning – and he must be prepared in all ways. He must send to Pemberley – for Darcy was in no way convinced his travelling wardrobe was up to snuff for such a tall occasion.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

How unusual for Darcy to be making an effort at a ball for once! Let's see if it makes a difference…


End file.
